


Ørendislauss

by kyoloren



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Blood and Injury, Clothed Sex, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fairytale Vibes, Fate & Destiny, Folklore, Forest Magic, Hair Braiding, Human Ben Solo, Human/Monster Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Magic, Monster Rey, Mythology - Freeform, Norse Mythology - Freeform, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Vikings, warrior Ben Solo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:08:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25581844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyoloren/pseuds/kyoloren
Summary: For centuries, the people of Theed have woven a tale of a powerful creature, a witch, who lives in the forest of Korlia. A forest from which no man returns.When the dying king of Theed asks his most powerful warrior to find the witch and return her to him, he agrees. The witch, however, will not submit without a fight.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 20
Kudos: 92





	Ørendislauss

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> The fic you're about to read is totally self indulgent. I was inspired with the idea by the photo in my graphic, the full version of the painting that belongs to [Martina Fačková and which you can view on her twitter](https://twitter.com/MFackova/status/1283139836342403073). I wanted to immediately write monster!Rey and then decided to write my favorite historic culture/mythology. And this fic was born.
> 
> A huge thank you to everyone on my twitter that encouraged me to write this! And especially to Anissa/vulpines who beta'd this for me before I posted it here.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!

**Ørendislauss** • without purpose/fateless/untouched yet by fate

* * *

People who ventured into the Korlian forest rarely returned. The forest was haunted, cursed, and it ate any man who ventured inside. The women, they would be returned, a little dazed and confused, sometimes bruised, but they never told of their time except for the occasional muttering whilst asleep.

It was these mutterings that slowly compiled a local legend. A legend of a beautiful but dangerous being who lived in the woods. It looked like a woman, but it could be anything. Some said she was made of shadows; some said she was made of light, or water, or air itself. In any case, one thing was clear: she had power.

Labeled a witch, the young King Pálnatóki started to send his hunters after the mystery woman. The men never returned. He began to send women warriors as well, but when they returned, they would speak of nothing and he exiled or killed them all in frustration.

Many decades passed and the legend of the woman continued to grow. She was somehow still alive, even though stories of her stretched back at least two centuries in the city of Theed. King Pálnatóki grew older and weaker of body, but not of mind.

Bengeirr Hanson, a young boy who had started his life as the son of a princess, now lived under the King's thumb. His parents were long dead and he served the King dutifully—for there was nothing else to do. He was large and muscular, physically powerful and that was all anyone saw him as: a weapon to be faced in one direction and let loose.

He spent a great deal of time sitting in the musty and smoky hut of Theed's oldest, Seiðr, who had been close to his mother. The Seiðr spoke of many things: about the mystery of Korlia's forest, about the tales told of why it had gone dark and murderous, about magic and gods and betrayals.

Though he sought them out, Bengeirr didn't find any answers.

He shouldn't have been surprised when it was finally his turn to face the forest. He met privately with the King in a small room off from the main longhouse. The man before him was old, wrinkled up into himself. This was the face of the conqueror, the one who had killed his parents and taken the throne for himself. It was the face of a man who would not die in battle and join the warriors of Valhalla, but instead would cling to life like a babe to a mother's breast.

It was disrespectful but no one would ever say such a thing.

Bengeirr tensed under Pálnatóki's watery gaze.

"You are a formidable hunter," the King said, though his words held a knife of malice within them. "It would be a shame to lose you to the wilds."

Squaring off his shoulders, Bengeirr knelt, taking out his sword and placing the tip to the wooden floor, hand resting on the crossguard. "I won't fail you like the others," he promised. If he said it enough times, perhaps it would be true.

Pálnatóki sneered, showing cracked and yellow teeth. "Perhaps. If you find the ungrateful, selfish witch and manage to complete the task—do not kill her. I need her alive."

Bengeirr swallowed, meeting the dying man's gaze. He knew what the King needed the witch for. He desired the same longevity that she seemed to possess.

"Yes, my king."

oOo

The forest was a looming wall of green darkness, backed up right to the edge of Theed. Bengeirr walked through the city, covered in weapons: his treasured sword at his hip, two small axes on the other side of his belt, a bow and filled quiver slung over his shoulder.

Thick furs circled his neck; a soft leather hood pulled over his long, dark hair. He passed Theed's prized rune stone and he paused, pressing his hands to the large hulking mass, slicing his hand over the sharp edge of one ax and pressing his blood offering to the gods. With a silent look up to the cloudy sky, he stepped out of the protective reach of Theed and into the forest.

It was always cold this far north, and Bengeirr's breath formed clouds in front of his face as he lumbered forward through the underbrush, covered in a layer of frost and ice. It was a wonder that anything grew here, but the tops of the trees were always flush with fresh leaves and new growth.

It was truly magical.

And yet he wasn't sure he could feel the power of the gods here; at least not those who he was familiar with. Perhaps this was the territory of the jötunn, the frost giants. He shivered at the thought and turned his eyes upward.

He walked for hours, deeper and deeper into the trees. It shouldn't have been this deep. He knew that a great mountain peak grew up close enough to Theed to see from the city, over the expanse of the forest. That is, if he was walking in a forward line. He couldn't see the sky to track the sun.

He had no net nor spear to catch the fish in the ice cold stream and cracked the end of two stone arrowheads on the rocky bottom before he caught one. Building a fire was nearly impossible, but he had a flint stone and it caught some dry kindling. He didn't cook it thoroughly, but ate the whole thing as soon as it was warm.

It grew dark quickly and he didn't want to break his ankle walking in the night, so he settled down at the base of a tree, the trunk surprisingly warm. He pulled his fur and cloak around him, his bow and an arrow resting in his lap.

He woke with a jolt of noise and got to his feet. It was light out now, the rays from a weak morning sun streaming through the green canopy. He stepped away from the tree, bow drawn. He expected an animal, a deer or perhaps a predatory wolf, but instead he caught a flutter of fabric out of the corner of his eye.

His heart stilled. Gripping the bowstring back toward his cheek, he tread softly over the frozen forest floor and scanned the trees. Another flash and he turned, tracking.

Another flash, and another before he let loose.

A small cry reached his ears a moment later as the arrow met its mark. He started walking, notching another arrow as his boots crunched over crusted snow. He moved around a thick trunk and saw her.

It had to be the witch. She wasn't dressed like any of the women who had been sent into the forest, in loose clothes barely covering her skin. The cold must not affect her.

Witch, definitely.

He let loose another arrow and it struck her thigh, sending her tumbling down without any grace. She hissed and reached back for the arrow, but cried when her fingers brushed the shaft and tucked her arm to her chest.

Bengeirr advanced on the woman, eyes flickering to the blood seeping into the fabric of her robes from his arrow in her leg. She scooted away, dragging herself toward a frozen fern at the base of a tree. She clutched a long, knotted staff beneath her body like it was precious.

He was stunned, _surprised_ by her face. It was pale, a dusting of freckles across her features, with small hazel eyes, deep and filled with knowledge. He realized too late that they were not filled with fear.

Her serene features twisted into a snarl and she shifted, swinging the staff around. The hard wood smashed against his shins and he gasped, going down on all fours from the blinding pain. He gulped in air and his eyes widened with his new perspective: two arms were holding the staff, and two more were wrapped around her midsection, staunching a wound from his first arrow.

Bengeirr sputtered out nonsensical words and she bludgeoned the back of his head. Everything went black.

oOo

He awoke in a cave, warmed by fire. He was laying on furs that smelled sour from lack of proper care. He sat up too quickly and his head throbbed. He reached for his belt but found his weapons gone.

Dark eyes swept over the expanse of the cave and his eyes fell upon the back of the woman-the witch. Her hair was a lighter brown than his own, falling to her waist in clumps and knots. She took no care to braid or comb it and he almost recoiled.

Her feet were bare, and her clothes appeared to be long strips of linen, wrapped around her form, barely covering anything. He could see her long legs, her bare arms…

He made a startled noise and she turned sharply, her features sharp in the flickering light. Her eyes were hard, her mouth set, shoulders set back. She took her staff in hand from where it rested against the cave wall, and stood tall and proud.

Bengeirr didn't say a thing, his eyes focused on her bare thigh. His arrow was gone and the skin was smooth as if she'd never been injured. He swallowed, throat dry and got over his surprise quickly.

"I see you truly are a witch," he said, meeting her gaze.

Her eyes half-closed, hooded and she crouched down on the other side of the fire, watching him carefully. "You say that with much disdain," she said, her voice rougher than he'd expect. Upon further inspection, she was quite dirty and her features weren't as angelic as she had looked in the snow. There was something dark and powerful about her.

She crossed one pair of arms across her abdomen, a third held onto her staff and the last pulled her hair around over her shoulder, laying the knotted expanse across her chest. "Doesn't your city revere witches?"

"Those who share their knowledge with the rest of us have found high standing in our lands. Always," he defended his land, his _life_. There were Seiðr, blessed humans who could see things others couldn't. Skalds who were blessed by the gods to weave tales of heroic deeds into poetry. And, of course, the revered Völva, the spiritual leaders of their society.

The creature rolled her eyes, stroking her hair with two hands now, the fourth resting in her lap in a fist. "You and your kind…" She shook her head. "All you do is take."

"We do not. And we're not the only ones. Our men never return from your clutches."

She smiled, but there was nothing warm about the gesture. She rose to her feet-she had just two and they looked human shaped-and bared her teeth. They looked sharp in this light. "And yet you came willingly. To your death." She walked to a pile in the corner and pulled out an axe.

"That's mine," he told her, voice low. He wasn't tied up and could move freely, and yet something kept him seated there.

She spun it in a hand. "It's not my fault. Men invade my lands and I defend myself. It's a wonder I haven't killed you."

Bengeirr frowned, narrowing his eyes. "Why didn't you? Do you often keep prisoners here?"

"No." She spun on her heels and walked with staff and axe as if they were having a pleasant conversation. "But there is something different about you."

He scoffed, finally rising to his feet. She stiffened immediately, spinning around and bringing an arm back. He barely flinched when she flung the axe at him and it sunk into a soft spot of earth by his head.

"Do not underestimate me," she said, teeth gritted. "It would be your downfall."

"I see that," he said, reaching up and yanking the weapon from his wall. "But you just gave me a weapon."

She took a step back. He stayed where he was, keeping his eyes on her. Neither spoke and the minutes passed by slowly. They were so still that when she lunged, he almost wasn't ready.

She didn't move toward him but to the weapons, reaching for his sword. The space was cramped and he kicked through the fire toward her. Her staff swung out again and he dodged it, blocking it with his axe. He wrapped his hand around the wood and yanked it from her grip.

She snarled at him, holding his sword with two or three hands, swinging it at him with no skill. He felt it slice through the front of his leather armor, not reaching his tunic underneath. He moved back and scattered the fire. An axe against a sword wasn't an automatic defeat, especially if she didn't know how to use it, but the small space made it difficult.

The clash of metal filled the air, and he yanked her close with his axe hooked around the sword. She stumbled and fell into him. Her nails raked against his face, drawing blood and he grunted.

"I'm supposed to take you in _alive_ ," he said through gritted teeth, yanking the sword from her and shoving her away. She gasped as her foot brushed a hot coal and then she had her staff in her hand, brandishing it at him.

"Why won't you just _leave_ me _alone_?!" Her yell filled the space and he loosened his grip on the sword. "I just want to be left alone."

His soft heart, his one weakness, softened a little. "Are you cursed?" he asked, eyes flickering to her arms.

She scoffed. "Why is that where your mind always goes?" He knew she didn't mean him specifically. "Every man tries to pretend to save me. _I don't need saving_."

"I can see that."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I'm not cursed. I am what I am."

"And what is that?" Bengeirr rolled his eyes around the space. The walls were covered in scratches, like she was keeping track of days. He couldn't count the number of them. Dug into the dark soil, there was a small gathering of wildflowers in a horn filled with water. More weapons than just his own were in that pile, though his were the newest. There were no candles or herbs or animals hanging from the ceiling. It didn't feel very much like a witch's den.

"I don't know," she said with a frown and then righted her face into fury. She gripped her staff with three hands and stabbed the air toward him with the index finger of the other. "I will not go with you. You'd have to kill me."

He sighed and leaned back against the cave wall. He could see no entrance, just the crowded dark room. "I can not kill you."

Her knuckles turned white as they gripped her staff. "Then I'll leave you here to die." She turned on her heel and made as if to walk away, but then spun around, one hand held in front of her face. She opened her fingers and blew. Powder hit his face and he stumbled.

Moments later, he was asleep.

oOo

She left him no food. When he awoke, he was alone except for the weapons and the remnants of the fire. He kept it going, otherwise there would be no light. He was always asleep the few times she returned. His stomach gnawed on itself, and finally, on the third day, she left him a few strips of rabbit and a handful of wild berries. He ate them all in three bites and couldn't tell if it was worse or better than having an empty stomach.

On the fourth day, he woke when she was in the cave. He stayed still, barely peeking with one eye open as she moved around the space and then...disappeared. She stepped through a solid wall.

Once she was gone, he waited many minutes before getting to his feet and walking to the wall. It looked solid, but when he held out his hand, it fell through. Magic.

Now he had a way out.

He strapped on his weapons, pulled on his furs and cloak and walked through, brandishing an axe. It was like walking through ice cold water, but without any resistance.

Bengeirr gasped for breath when he came out the other side. He found himself in a small valley, covered in icy ferns and saplings, with pops of bright wildflowers. It was a sanctuary.

He walked quietly, searching for the witch. She was crouched in what would be a meadow if it wasn't covered in ice. A fawn with white speckles was nuzzling into her hand and she looked...quite beautiful. He hid behind a tree and watched.

There was a loud flapping of wings and the baby deer froze and then jumped away through the trees to an awaiting doe. The flapping grew louder, followed by loud cawing. Bengeirr held his breath as two enormous ravens settled down in the clearing. One on the witches shoulder, the other on the ground before her.

"Odin," Bengeirr breathed out, nearly going down on his knees in surprise. It was obvious that those were the All-Father's faithful birds, and here they were, speaking to this witch who had claimed a whole forest for herself.

He was too far away to hear, but the witch spoke to them and stroked their proud, shining feathers. One nipped her finger and drew blood, the crimson showing bright against the white snow.

And then, all at one, three pairs of eyes turned to his hiding place.

Many things happened after that:

Bengeirr turned to run, something he never did.  
The ravens lifted off into the air and swooped after him, though they didn't try to catch him.  
The witch got to her feet and lifted her two right arms, words spilling from her tongue.  
He froze in place.

Ice crawled up his legs, chilling him through his thick woolen pants and stopping just over his knees.

The witch came and stood in front of him, two hands on her hips. She tilted her head to the side. "How did you do that?" she asked.

 _She_ asked _him_! What had he done? What had _she_ done? "I can't move."

"How did you get out of the cave?" she pressed. In this light he could see the dirt smudges, the twigs and leaves in her lumpy hair…

"I watched you leave," Bengeirr replied, thankful she hadn't taken his tongue.

"No one should be able to see the entrance," she mused, taking a step back and pacing, tapping her chin. She was thinking about _something_ and it annoyed him that he couldn't figure it out.

"How did you stop me? Is this jötunn magic?"

She waved her free hand. "Jötunn, Æsir, Vanir, does it matter? It's all the same."

He balked. He didn't think so. It was not _the same_ , even if all came from the waters of Urd and the power of Yggdrasil. "Did Odin send his ravens to speak with you? Who _are_ you?"

The witch turned on her heel and snapped her fingers together. "Ah-ha! You must be a Seiðmenn."

Bengeirr struggled against the hold but couldn't move anything but his eyes and mouth. "No."

"You were not sent here out of...ergi?" She frowned a little at the word, as if she wasn't sure she used it correctly. If she had been living in these woods for centuries, how much did she know about the world outside of its borders?

Ergi was the social taboo of male Seiðr, typically resulting in outlaw or exile. Bengeirr growled. "So I look like a Seiðmenn to you?"

"No." She stepped close, peering up into his face, curious now rather than angry. Her warm breath fell upon his frigid lips. "But if you could see the illusion I cast, then you have magical blood in you. Perhaps _you_ are jötunn? You're built like one."

"No, I am not. My parents were human."

"Hmm...yes. But perhaps a grandfather was conceived by the will of Odin. He does like to appear and offer thanks to those most loyal to him."

Bengeirr knew all about legacy, the blood of gods running through veins. He had heard about it his entire life, but it was never true. He had nothing special about him; he wasn't even the tallest man in Theed. "I do not have the blood of Odin."

"Loki perhaps?" She poked at his scarred right cheek. And then she noticed his weapons. She began to pull them away: his axes, his sword, his quiver, though she left his bow slung across his chest.

"Shouldn't you be asking yourself that question?" Bengeirr said, saying the words with as much bite as he could muster. Everyone knew of Loki's shapeshifting abilities and his numerous monstrous children. Perhaps she was one of them.

He didn't make a sound as one of her hands came and squeezed his chin, pointed nails digging into his skin, drawing blood. "I think I'll keep you for a little while," the witch decided, stepping back and juggling the weapons in her multiple arms. She waved one free hand and the ice ebbed away. Bengeirr gasped and nearly fell to his knees. He crouched and rubbed at his calves and shins, trying to bring them back to life. "Come on."

He watched her back retreating toward the cave. He could try to escape again, but he had nowhere to go.

Almost as if reading his mind, she called over her shoulder, "You won't find your way out without me. If you run, you'll likely starve and freeze to death."

He had no choice. He followed her.

oOo

He couldn't find the entrance or exit of the cave without her. He was _beholden_ and he didn't like it. She let him keep his weapons. She knew he couldn't kill her, so she dangled freedom in front of his face while keeping him locked in a cage.

They shared meals over a fire. In the sparkling shadows, the witch's face was definitely sharper, her teeth pointed, her eyes darker and deeper, and her nails clawed.

"Do you have a name?" he asked after two days of silence.

"Yes." She tore into the leg of a sizzling leg of deer. "Do you?"

He swallowed and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. "Bengeirr," he told her, like a peace offering. If he could befriend her, perhaps he could trick her into leaving the forest.

"Bengeirr," she repeated again and again, rolling his name around on her tongue. "Ben...geirr. Wound and spear...you have no spear."

"I prefer my sword." His fingers brushed the crossguard of his weapon. Axes were sturdy weapons, but swords were harder to make and stronger. He'd slain many enemies with the side of his blade.

"Is it _spearwound_? Are you certain you're not descended from Odin? He hung from the tree of knowledge with Gungnir in his side, bleeding for nine days…"

"You don't have to recite history to me," he growled.

Her eyes snapped to his. "I don't often speak to my prey. I don't know how the world has changed beyond my trees."

"Your trees."

"They protect me. From the likes of you and the evil deepening from your walled city."

Theed had built a wall of tree trunks around it within the last decade, to keep slaves from wandering into the woods. "The king…"

The witch scoffed. "Some king. He does not even believe in the Old Gods, not like us. He is a stain on our history. He is selfish and does not care for the favor of the All-Father." She crossed two of her arms as the others' fists clenched and unclenched in her lap. The long femur bone of the buck broke with a snap under her strength.

"Did Odin tell you that?" He glanced around, as if expecting the big black birds to somehow be watching. "I saw you speaking to them. Huginn and Muninn, his messengers."

She sniffed and shrugged, turning the bone and attacking it with her sharp teeth. "I speak to many beasts. I offer quick deaths to my meals."

Bengeirr finished his meat, working the last morsels off with his tongue and teeth. "Odin speaks to you. He supports you. But he does not support King Pálnatóki."

The witch shrugged again, swallowing fatty bone marrow. "I don't know, nor do I care. Do you feel the presence when you walk your streets?"

He thought about it. "I do everywhere but around the King."

"Then you do have power. Most only feel the greatest support: Thor and Odin in battle, Freyja at childbirth and conception...Loki when devious thoughts wiggle their way into your mind like worms." She tossed the empty bone into the fire and leaned forward, two of her hands digging into the dirt floor. "But you notice everything."

She was monstrous, some kind of creature unknown to the average mind. He did not think she was some deformed child tossed to the wolves: her double set of arms worked too smoothly to have been a mistake, like the eight legs of Sliepnir. Which could only mean one thing.

"You protect the women who come into your forest."

"They do nothing to harm me, even the warriors with painted faces and armor were easily convinced that I mean them no harm."

"Why do you kill the men?"

She sighed and got to her feet, grabbing her staff. The conversation was over. She stomped out of the cave and he rushed to follow. The sky was purple with night.

"You show kindness to women, but not to men. And yet you have not seen our world in...in centuries. Why is that?"

"Women do not try to attack me," she said, swooping down to pluck some leaves from a low bush. "They are brutal but kind. Most men are not kind to strange women in the trees." She snapped the end off a bush and waved it toward him. "If you were a god, this could kill you."

Mistletoe. He frowned. "Why are you keeping me here?"

"You're not like the others. Yet. And I can always kill you if I'd like." She spun around, twirling her staff and walking into the night. The shadows appeared to welcome her and she soon fell from his sight.

Without her help, he couldn't return to the cave so he hunkered down and slept resting against a mossy boulder, his body heat melting the ice around him as he waited.

oOo

Bengeirr woke with an icy hand seeping through his cloak and shirt at his shoulder. The witch leaned down, warm breath tickling his cheek:

"Fight," she said.

"Fight what?" he murmured, half-asleep.

Something crashed nearby. Something big and tall. He scrambled to his feet. "What is that?"

"Frostúlfur," the witch said. She was crouched on the top of the boulder, staff in hand, remnants of red berries smeared across her lips.

"Let me guess," Bengeirr said, pulling free his sword and holding it with both hands. "He's a frost giant."

She shrugged. "He was tormenting a family of wolves. I attacked him. He's not happy."

There was a roar of a voice, slinging slurs through the air.

Bengeirr glanced back and up at her. "You can't fight him yourself?"

"I can, but you're here. Might as well put you to good use."

The jötunn appeared almost suddenly out of the trees. Eight feet tall, lumbering with braided white hair and pale skin, dressed in patched furs and carrying a clumsily made spear. It was big enough to kill with the right thrust.

"Am I killing him?" Bengeirr asked.

"No, just a warning." The witch gripped the boulder and the staff and her eyes shone.

He huffed a sigh. There was little conversation necessary. Frostúlfur yelled at the witch. She shot back insults and turned Bengeirr on the giant. A few slashes to the arms, the legs, his back, and the jötunn left with words of threat.

The witch let out an amused, chittering laugh. She jumped down from the boulder, bare feet sinking into the cold wet soil. "Well done, son of the Æsir." She stopped in front of him, crowding into his space.

"I told you, I am not that."

"You are. It's nothing to be ashamed of."

"I would be proud if I were, but nothing has ever shown that I was blessed by the gods." His eyes were hard and he clenched his teeth.

She always looked softer in the light, and she looked downright beautiful in that moment before she made a face, scrunching her nose and turning down her lips. "Whatever you say. I can-"

She never had a chance to finish her sentence. An arrow appeared like a dream, hitting her in the back, perfectly shot between her spine and ribs and protruding through her chest. She gasped in pain and her hands scrabbled for purchase, scrapping over his armor and sleeves.

Bengeirr cursed, eyes darting through the trees. Whoever was here, whatever hunter, had probably been able to sneak up on them due to the astronomical noise from Frostúlfur. He spotted movement and twisted around, gripping the witch's elbows and lowering her to the ground before he shoved an axe into one of her palms and started to run.

Her voice followed him, telling him to stop, but he didn't listen. Had the King changed his mind? Did he want the nuisance of a witch killed now, rather than taken? What had changed?

Bengeirr was a good hunter. And he realized that he recognized more and more of the forest around him as he ran. He cut to the right and ended up overtaking the other hunter, stepping out from behind a tree and landing the pommel of his sword smack dab in the middle of the hunter's face.

The man groaned and stumbled back. The bone was broken and blood immediately gushed from his nose and teeth.

"Bengeirr?" the man said, squinting. "We thought you were dead."

Bengeirr didn't stop to chat. He kicked out the man's knee and he went down. They sparred, axe and sword hitting in a feeble attempt by the wounded hunter until Bengeirr had him by his hair, head pulled back, sword edge on his throat. "Why were you trying to kill her?"

"That creature? The witch? For the king."

"He wants her alive," Bengeirr insisted.

"Not anymore."

His blood felt cold. Without a word, he sliced the blade across the hunter's throat, deep enough to choke his windpipe with blood and then let him fall. He took the hunter's cloak from his shoulders and wiped the blood off on the dead man's tunic before returning.

The witch had barely pulled herself a few feet along, but she was still alive.

"He was here to kill you," Bengeirr said, helping her to her feet. Her arms grabbed onto him and he helped her find the entrance, to get into the cave.

"Weren't you?" she gasped out, falling to her knees. The fire was low and he stoked it, adding more wood from her small pile and crouching low. He put aside the cloak and his weapons.

"No. I was told to take you alive. Orders have changed." He watched her with concern. Which was strange because he couldn't remember when that became an emotion he could conjure, much less one for someone the likes of her.

"Oh." She hissed as she touched the arrowhead. "Things are happening faster than they should."

"What do you mean?"

She braced one hand on the floor, the other on the cave wall and then clenched a fist around the arrowhead. Her blood spilled from her palm and she let out a cry of pain.

"Let me," he said, moving toward her. She scooted back, holding his axe aloft, shaking in her small hand. He crouched in front of her and they looked at each other for some time before she lowered the weapon and nodded.

He inspected the wound. The arrow was strong, and she was more fragile than she appeared.

"It's the metal," she said softly as he put his hand over her chest, holding her still. "It makes me weaker than I am."

The arrow head gleamed, perfectly sharp. He gritted his own teeth as he snapped it off. She groaned and dug her nails into his shoulder, his leg. "It's fletched with feathers, I'll put it out the back so they don't get dragged inside."

She nodded and scooted forward, her sharp teeth digging into her soft lips, beads of blood covering the already stained skin. Bengeirr gripped the end of the arrow and steadied himself against the floor and wall so he could pull it out in one clean motion. Taking a deep breath, he pulled with his right hand and pushed the blunted broken end with his left for extra swiftness.

The witch whimpered and muffled her cries, but relaxed once the arrow was gone. He tossed it into the fire and turned back to her.

"Let me see."

"I'll heal," she said, pushing him away with two hands. Her clothes were drenched in blood and her tongue looked a little thin, perhaps clefted sort of like a snake, as she licked her lips clean.

"Just like that?" he asked, knees digging into the soft floor of the cave.

She nodded, settling back against the hard stone wall. A sheen of sweat covered her body, glistening in the firelight. She half closed her eyes and he stayed where he was, watching.

It took a long time, the silence stretching thin, before he saw her flesh begin to heal, knitting itself back together before it was sealed, smooth like she'd never been hit.

"I wouldn't believe it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes," he murmured, reaching a hand toward her.

She snatched his wrist before he could get close, her pointed nails digging into his skin. Her eyes were dark, though her teeth weren't bared. She looked tired from her ordeal. She squeezed and his bones creaked before she let go.

He clenched his jaw and rubbed his hand, his arm. "What do you do to make that happen?"

She closed her eyes again, letting out a huff of air through her nose. Two hands tangled in her hair and another pressed to her newly healed flesh. "I do nothing. It happens to me, that is all."

Bengeirr frowned. If that was true, then there was nothing she could do for the king. Had he somehow found out and now he had given the order to take her life? Something wasn't making sense.

"I'm sleeping in here today," she said, scooting toward the flowers dug into the ground. She pulled more musty furs from a pile and rolled them to support her head. "I'm weak after I heal."

He stood, watching her shiver. Before he knew what he was doing, he took the dead hunter's cloak and laid it over her. She grew instantly stiff, eyes flashing open and staring at him as he stepped back. Her gaze followed him as he moved to his own furs. "I can never find the door without you, so I'll stay here."

She nodded, tucking the cloak under her chin. It took a long time for her to relax, but soon her breathing evened out and she was asleep. He stayed seated, mind whirling. What had changed? What was going on at Theed? He wanted answers, but he wouldn't get them here.

In the time he had been here, he noticed that the witch looked softer and more human under the sunlight, but quickly reverted to some primal figure in the night, in the dark. Now, during the day but in the flickering shadows of a fire, she looked like a little of both. Her nails were long and sharp, and he had seen her dark pools for eyes and her tongue and her teeth.

She was a monster, but she hadn't tried to kill him since that first day.

After some time, he got to his feet. He had to hunch in the cave; it wasn't tall enough for him to stand straight. Naturally, his hands came to fall on the sword and axe at his hip. His second axe was sticking out from under the end of the cloak, loosely resting on one of the witch's relaxed hands.

He recognized more of the forest now, and while he needed her help finding the exit to the cave—it was never where he thought it was, or where it was last—he could perhaps make his escape soon. She was weak—she'd said as such.

Now was the perfect time.

He crouched down, glancing over what he could see of her face above the cloak's fox fur shoulders, before turning his attention to the axe. He couldn't leave without it. The set had been his father's and he felt Han's strength as his own whenever he wielded them. He could not leave them behind.

Taking a deep breath, he reached out, ready to take it gently from her grasp so she would have no weapons before he roused her, when she mumbled and twisted under the cloak. Her two left arms pushed the cloak away and Bengeirr was privy to the soft swell of an exposed breast, one small pink nipple catching light from the fire.

He sucked in a breath and reached toward the axe, only to freeze as his name slipped out from between her lips. Not his full name, just _Ben_ , but he knew it was his name that she meant.

Her face contorted into pain and she struggled, nails digging into the cloak. He snatched up the axe and retreated a step back. The witch's arms flew out and some fingers clenched into fists, digging into her palms so blood flowed freely. She mumbled incoherently, with the occasional mutter of his name and powerful _no_ 's.

He watched with morbid fascination as she started to lift off the ground, as if carried by a large, invisible hand. Her bare legs kicked out and she nearly sobbed. The sound filled the cave and reached around his ribs to grip his heart.

Slipping his axe into the loop at his side, he stepped toward the woman floating inches off the ground. Her flailing arms hit him, scratched him, but he pinned them down the best he could and forced her back to hit the dark soil of the ground.

"Wake up," he commanded, pinning two of her arms down with his knees, holding the other two in one of his hands, their bloodied palms pressing together. His second hand slipped around her chin, pressing and shaking. "Wake up!"

She did, with a gasp. Her eyes flew open, shining green. Her fingers splayed out and she wriggled beneath him, turning her head sharply and biting his hand with her sharp teeth.

"Ach!" He cursed and shook out his hand, watching the blood bead up from where her teeth had sunk in. He released just enough weight off her wrists that she was able to get the best of him.

With a flurry of limbs, Bengeirr found himself splayed out on his back, the witch's hands pinning his arms at his sides and wrapping around his throat. Her eyes were frantic and lost, the snarl pulling back her lips revealing her teeth, her snake-like tongue.

He was at her mercy even as her hands pressed tighter against his windpipe and his skin started turning red with effort to breathe.

He tried to move her with his legs, the heels of his boots digging into the dirt beneath him, but she didn't budge, pressing him down with a strength she shouldn't have had in her slender form.

He tried gulping for air, flexing his hands to break her grip, but nothing worked. His vision swam.

And, just as suddenly as she'd pinned him down, she released him. He coughed, sucking air, throat and lungs burning as he did so. Her legs stayed at his sides, straddling his torso, making it hard for him to breathe as deeply as he needed.

"Ben," she whispered out, and the sound of his name in her voice made him still. Her eyes had faded to their usual dark color inside the cave. Two of her hands twisted the long, messy hair that had fallen over her shoulder.

"What—?" He could barely speak, coughing and waving his hand at her. She settled back on his thighs instead, so he could prop himself up and cough properly, sucking in air greedily. "What was that?"

She shook her head and before he could say anything else, she'd thrown herself at him. Her arms circled around his back and she buried her face against his shoulder, embracing him.

He sat there, stunned.

She squeezed him with all four arms and then she sat back, eyes shining in the flickering fire. "Reija."

"What?"

"My name. Reija."

His confusion continued. "Why are you telling me that? And what was _that_? A nightmare? You were floating in the air."

"I was...I was seeing the future," she said, a frown creasing her brow, exaggerating her sharp features.

Of course. She was a witch afterall; a true Seiðr. "What did you see?" His own eyes widened in excitement, the desire to know things. He would never wish to see such things himself, but he couldn't resist the pull to know where his future may lie.

"I saw—" Her eyes got a faraway look to them, no longer seeing him, but looking deep within herself. Her hands moved on their own accord, gripping his shoulders, stroking his hair, pressing against his abdomen, over his heart— "I saw a great battle. The trees—my forest on fire, blood spilled. The gods-the gods are angry. So angry."

"With who?" He shifted a little, sliding an arm around her back so she didn't fall away or dig her claws into him. She closed her eyes and swayed a little before she opened them again, tinged with green.

"The battle was between King Pálnatóki and Odin himself."

Bengeirr balked. "Odin himself?" The All-Father rarely visited battles directly any longer. "Odin? What about his sons? Maybe you saw something incorrectly. Could it have been Tyr? Thor?"

"No." She shook her head and leaned close. "No. Odin comes. Pálnatóki...he disturbs—he _disturbed_ the order of things. Great suffering will come to pass."

The Seiðr at Theed had never told him of such things. But Reija would have no reason to lie. "You saw me in this battle as well?"

Her grip on his shoulders hurt. "Yes." She moved even closer, until their noses were almost touching. "I did not see if you survived."

Bengeirr believed. He believed in the power of the gods, in the things the Seiðr foretold, in the decisions the Völva made for them all—he had no reason not to believe Reija. "Perhaps it is my time. I die victorious and in battle and—"

One of her hands covered his mouth, smothering his words. Her skin was soft against his lips, his patchy, scratchy beard extra wiry beneath her touch. "I do not foresee it. Ben." The way her eyes searched his had him concerned, intrigued, anxious. Digging deep and luring up emotions he'd long since pushed down to stay alive and in the King's favor. "I did not see you fall. You were just gone. I think it must be magic. You would not be taken by the Valkyries."

Not everyone was taken into Valhalla. Some warriors were sent to Frejya to live in Fólkvangr, but that was not Bengeirr's wish. His entire life was torn out from under him when he was just a child. He had nothing—no family, no ties, no heirs—except his honor in battle. If there was no future after death in Valhalla for him, what was the point of fighting?

"Oh," Reija said. "Oh, oh, _oh_." She released his mouth and cupped his face in her hands. "I can see your conflict. I should not have told you."

"I asked."

"I can change—I would change it. Or maybe it is as it should be. Magic saves you."

Defiant as ever, he countered: "I told you, I do not have the blood of gods in my veins."

Her gaze hardened and her two lower hands gripped his shoulders. "You have the blood of...something in your veins. Power."

"I don't want it."

Reija shifted away from him and he suddenly became aware of her warmth settled on his lap, her soft hands on his face drowning out the pain of her claws digging into his shoulders.

"You may regret that rejection," she said, removing herself from his grasp and standing, her arms tugging her clothes back into place, pushing hair out of her face, steadying herself on a cave wall.

Bengeirr sat where he was, pulling one leg under him and watching her. Not long ago, he had been thinking of startling her awake with an axe held to her neck and forcing her to lead him out of this forest. And now? He couldn't think of moving, staying still to process his apparent fate.

He didn't look up or follow her as she stepped outside, leaving him alone. Swallowing hard, he sat there and finally crawled to his bed.

oOo

Sleep didn't come easily. When he awoke, he felt unrested and unclean. Reija came into the cave after he woke up and he followed her outside. She left food for him and disappeared. He didn't try to follow her.

He ate the meat left for him and walked to the stream nearby. He sat on the stoney edge and pulled off the fine twine and leather at the ends of his hair, working his fingertips through the small braids at his temples until his hair was free. He scooped out water and ran it over his hair, using his hands to rake through it since he had nothing else to use.

Cold water trickled down his neck and into his tunic, but he didn't stop. Once his hair was clean, he settled back against a tree and got back to work. He gathered the top half of his hair up and created a thick braid before gathering the ends and wrapping the thickest of leather strips around it, tying it in place. The loose hair around his ears he braided close to his skull, his fingers nimble despite how cold they were, braiding to the tips of his hair on either side of his face. The bottom half of his hair was thick and long to his shoulders and he left it that way. The smaller braids, with their ends tied in twine, framed his face, mingling with the longer hair.

"That took a long time."

He jumped and exclaimed at the words, hand reaching for his axe on instinct. He twisted around and Reija stepped out from behind a large tree. Her clothes were still stained with blood, but they were more securely tied around her body. Her hair was just as messy as it always was.

"Does everyone take so much time to do that to their hair?"

He sighed and got to his feet. "Yes."

She stroked her ratty hair absently—or perhaps not so absently.

He didn't want to stay here, if his fate was sealed, but he was not driven toward it either, if it ended in some unknown place. He began to walk back toward the cave. "Do you know when this battle will happen?" he asked as he passed her.

Reija shrugged a shoulder...shoulders? It was hard to tell if both of her right arms moved in the same fashion. "Soon. Not today. Not tomorrow. Odin will tell me."

"I'd forgotten that you're favored by the All-Father," he said sarcastically. She came up behind him and shoved him. He stumbled forward and then spun around, a snarl of his own working up his throat, bearing his crooked teeth.

"I told you to help you," she said, words sharp and full of an emotion he couldn't place. "If you want to die on your own, that is your choice."

He hesitated, trying to figure out what the wrinkle between her eyes meant, the stubborn downturn of her lips, the fury behind her eyes like the rolling clouds foretelling the arrival of Thor.

"I always battle alone," he settled on, narrowing his eyes at her. He had no true friends in Theed. He tried, but there was something haunted about him that no one could stand. He was favored by the King, but that just ostracized him even more. The only person who stood by him in battle were the gods themselves. "I always suspected I would die alone."

"I thought you were different," Reija said, crossing two of her arms, the others held down stiffly at her sides, fists clenched. "But I can see that you have no purpose."

Bengeirr blanched, taken aback. "What? I do."

"Do you? To go to Valhalla?" She glared at him. "That's _stupid_. You shouldn't live your life just to die. There needs to be...more. You're wasting—" She stopped herself and shook her head.

"Wasting? What am I wasting? It's my life!" He yelled as she turned her back and started to walk away.

"You'll die soon!" she yelled back as she kept walking. "And what have you to show for it?"

He began to follow her, anger and guilt and fear and confusion making his hands shake.

"I protect my forest. I tend to the trees, I protect the animals. This is a life." Two of her arms spread out, as if offering him to look around. With a bound, she jumped ahead quickly, sprinting and ending up in that frozen meadow from before. She turned to face him. "I thought perhaps since you have stayed here, you would have figured out your purpose."

He stopped where he had before, near the edge, one hand resting on the rough bark of a tall tree. "Did you really think I would spend time here and suddenly decide this is my home? My home is Theed."

Reija growled and yanked at her hair in frustration. "You don't understand. I-I protect the women who come here into my forest. My forest protects me."

He frowned. "You are right. I don't understand."

She let out a screech and threw her arms out, tilting her head back. "I live within these trees. I always have. I've never left. I cannot."

"You...you're a prisoner."

"No. I like it here. I'm protected, this is my home. But my home—"

"If you tell me, will you let me go after? Or will I become one of your victims?"

"I don't kill every man who steps foot in my woods." She stepped toward him. "Many, yes, but not all of their blood is on my hands. Sometimes they're dead before I even know they've stepped foot into my land."

She was trying to tell him something, that much was clear, but her meaning was not. He was not a stupid man, but he had spent his entire life in Theed. He wasn't a traveler, he hadn't seen the great expanse of the world far from this cold northern country and yet, if she spoke of magic, he understood that enough.

"The trees," he said slowly, taking his hand away from the trunk he was leaning against. Reija's body tilted toward him like a flower searching for the sun. "The trees...protect you."

"Yes," she said. "The very fact that you're standing here is—" She paused and tilted her head. "Improbable."

"But those things you said about keeping me…"

"Were true. But it's not always up to me." Her arms settled by her sides. "Do you understand?"

He felt as if he had only scratched the surface and there was much that he was missing, but he nodded. He didn't know what it meant, to be within a magical, murdering forest and to survive, but for now, he was thankful. He glanced around at the green tops of the trees surrounding the area.

Bengeirr did not know how to thank a forest for his life, if there was a singular spirit keeping the place immersed in magic, or if it was many, or if one of the gods was a puppeteer here. So he kept his thanks silent.

He heard the witch sigh and, when he turned his attention back to her, she was nothing but a blur, coming at him. He had no chance to stop her and she hit him full-on, knocking him back. He hit the ground hard and she gripped him and rolled twice until they stopped.

She was on top of him, pressing against his leather armor, two of her hands going to his face, the others clinging to the edge of the leather. Her face was close, their noses almost touching. "I have been...so alone," she breathed out, tilting her head.

"What about your purpose?" he asked, arms laid out against the ground, breath coming in short bursts from his shocked lungs.

"I can have purpose and still be alone," she said softly, wiggling. Her knees dug into the ground, one between his legs, one by his hip. He bent his leg and she squeezed his face just enough to feel the prick of her nails against his skin. She closed her eyes and pushed her hips back, her pink lips parting as she rubbed against his thigh.

"I too have been alone," he ventured to say, raising one of his hands to her face. Her eyes flew open, pupils big and black before fading to pinpricks. He brushed his fingers over her jaw. "Surrounded by people, but alone."

Reija tilted her head. "Like the trees. I am thankful for them, but I am still—" she paused to huff out a breath, creating friction with her motions. "I am still flesh."

"Yes," he said. "You're no spirit like the stories say." A frown creased his brow.

"No." She bit her bottom lip with blunt teeth, eyes fluttering closed again.

Bengeirr hooked his fingers behind her head, tangling them in her messy, dirty hair. Something deep and primordial, like it had always been there but had been asleep, rose within him. He tightened his grip on her. "I like you better in the dark," he growled. "You change."

She scrunched up her nose, her body falling still. "I stay the same. You see me differently."

He blinked. "You feel true. In the shadows."

Her head cocked to the side. "I am."

He couldn't wait any longer, need filled him and he pulled her closer still, pressing a kiss to her chilled lips. She shifted on top of him and her nails gently scraped over his skin as her lips softened and warmed quickly. She made a sound in the back of her throat; one of desperation and in the next moment, she was scrambling to her feet, dragging him with her.

"Come, come," she said, running to the nearby cave, straight through what appeared to be a solid wall. Her hands guided him and he followed. The fire, constantly burning, was there, low but casting enough light to see by.

Once inside, her sharp edges came out: her face took on a thin, angular quality, her teeth shone sharp and bright, her eyes grew darker, nails grew to claws and the tongue that wet her lips was forked.

She was a monster and she was beautiful.

Her chest rose and fell quickly as she stood there, watching him. His lips parted and she shifted, breaking the spell. He lurched forward, taking her head in his hands, kissing her fiercely. Her back hit the wall and he pressed her there. Her hands pulled him close, sank into his hair, messing up his work from the morning. They unlooped his belt and it and his weapons fell heavy onto the ground. Bengeirr coaxed her lips open and felt the prickle of her teeth, the tiniest taint of blood.

She moaned and he pushed his leg between hers. She rubbed against him, grabbing his hips and tugging at his hair with her other hands. He grew hard in his trousers, the bulge pressing against her belly when she rolled her hips a certain way.

Her curious tongue flicked over his and then she wrenched it back, breaking off their furious kissing. His eyes slowly opened and he was met with nearly glowing green eyes. It meant magic he knew, but he didn't know what she could be doing right now. He wanted this, he knew it, he knew he wasn't bewitched.

"Ben," she whispered, running the backs of her fingers down his cheek. His chest twinged and he stepped back just a little. He could see _more_. What looked like small, twisted horns hidden in her hair, the way her eyes were a little bigger with pupils so big and dark and overpowering that he could barely see the whites of them…

He blinked.

"No time," she said, urgently. "No time." Two of her hands worked the ties on his trousers, loosening them just enough, and a moment later, her palms wrapped around his length. He gritted his teeth and slumped against her. She tilted his head up and smiled, careful of her claws as she ran the pads of her thumbs along the swollen head.

His hands tightened at her hips, the back of her neck. "I need you," he gasped out and then they were on the floor, him on his back, her straddling him. She tugged at her meager clothes and they came free, revealing two perfectly pert breasts and a thick swatch of hair between her legs. "I've needed you—I didn't know—"

She shushed him with a finger, leaning over him. Her hands were everywhere: stroking his face, stroking his shaft, pinching his wrists and putting them where she wanted them. One she led to between her legs and his fingers slid through the slick wetness there.

She purred and hummed and bit down on the leather protecting him when he pushed two fingers inside of her, finding no resistance. She was ready and needy, feeling the same as him. He pressed his thumb to the bud of nerves above her entrance and she gasped, yanking his hair.

He found her eyes in the shadows, her slice of a mouth parted in surprise and pleasure. He continued to rub and she mewled out guttural sounds, clutching at him.

She cried out and shook, walls of muscle tightening around his fingers, her claws scratching down his neck. She didn't apologize, but took his mouth under her control again and pushed aside his sticky hand. Reija circled her dripping center around the tip of his erection, teasing him, drawing a moan out from him.

He gripped her bare hips and she bit his lip gently between her teeth, reaching between them to guide him into her. They collectively moaned as she took him in, hot and wet and still shaking. Bengeirr shifted his hips under her and she whimpered, pressing his shoulders down against the dirt.

He took her waist and moved her, needing to feel her all around him. She growled out and moved at her own pace, rolling her hips, taking him in, pulling him out and he felt his own pleasure build. He didn't take his eyes off of her, the sharp angles, the _monstrous_ parts of her.

Sliding his hand up her torso, he brushed against her breasts, pausing for a moment to massage them, twist her nipples and then he gently circled her throat. She leaned down with him, licking his neck with her long tongue and then kissing his jaw, the corner of his lips and then his mouth.

Her hands dug into the dirt, into his hair, his skin, his clothes, as she started to rock faster. Bengeirr lifted his knees and shifted the angle. She hissed and pulled his hair. He met her gaze and didn't shy away from any part of her.

Reija relented slowly, her breathing ragged as she moved, but not fast enough. The words left her lips as an order, a plea: "Faster, faster," she murmured and he gathered her in his arms, pressing her tight against his torso. It was easier that way, to curl his body and lift his hips, his face buried in her neck as the slick sounds of him pounding into her grew to fill the cave.

She wrapped his head and shoulders protectively in her own arms and cried out, cresting just moments before him, clenching hard around his length, drawing his own release from him. He bit down on her collarbone and jerked up into her until he had no more seed to coat her walls with, leaving him dazed and too warm in all his clothes.

He released his bruising hold on her and let his head fall back. She smoothed out his hair, running her hands down his face and his neck, lacing one's fingers with his own. Settling against him, she pressed her swollen lips to his for one last kiss.

"You're not alone," she said softly against his mouth.

"Neither are you."

oOo

The woods felt warmer than usual when he stepped out of the cave, but he was grateful for it. They washed up in the icy stream, Reija's more monstrous attributes fading in the light.

He didn't know how that worked, but it hurt his head too much to try to figure it out.

"I ruined your hair," she said after she'd wrapped herself back in her rags and his cloak, pulling it around her tightly.

Bengeirr tugged at the binding and combed his hands through it again. "I'll fix it." He did, sitting there on the bank, with her watching him, thickly braiding the long hair and then tying it off.

When he looked over at her, she was running her fingers through the ends of her hair, catching on snarls and knots. He took one of her hands away and pulled her attention to him. "Do you want me to help with that?"

She looked at him with narrowed eyes. He didn't know how long she had lived in this forest, but perhaps she had some attachment to her messy nest of hair.

It took a few minutes before she nodded. He motioned for her to sit in front of him. She did, his cloak circling around her. He kneeled. "This is usually done with a comb," he explained, trying his best to brush through her hair with his thick fingers. He couldn't feel her horns, though he did search for them with his fingertips. "I'm sorry if I hurt you."

"I've hurt you," she said simply, not flinching when he caught on a knot.

"That's not the same," he told her, pulling out leaves and twigs. She didn't say anything to that and he had nothing more to offer so they sat in silence as he worked. Once her hair was as smooth as he could get it with his hands, he helped her wash it with the water and she managed to pull out the remaining knots with her many fingers.

"Have you done this before?" she asked as he parted her wet hair and had her hold sections of it. He was braiding most of it into one larger braid, but he selfishly wanted her to match him and planned to make smaller braids from above her ears that he would join in the back.

"Braided hair? Yes."

"No," she said, giving him the smaller piece on the right side to braid. "Braided someone else's hair. A woman perhaps. Back in Theed?"

"I have no woman back in Theed," he told her, finishing it off and tying with a spare bit of twine.

"Hmmmm." He braided the other side and then started in on the main part, parting it into five strands and working across. It was much like weaving, and it created a powerful shape to her hair. He braided in silence, taking the smaller braids halfway through and weaving them in, before tying off the end.

He settled back on his heels and Reija lifted all her hands to gently brush over the thick expanse of his work. "Thank you," she said, and her voice had genuine gratitude in it.

Bengeirr simply nodded and sat down beside her. "This battle," he started.

"It will happen soon. And it will encroach on my trees. They will be ready." She looked across the stream, at the frost encrusted ground, at the huge tree trunks, hundreds of years old.

"Theed is my home," he said slowly. "But I will help you defend yours. If you wished for my help."

"I am capable on my own." She paused and one of her hands snuck out of the cloak and found his. She pressed their palms together, laced their fingers. "But I would rather not be alone."

"I will kill the king if I need to," he said the words softly. They sounded almost treasonous to his ears before he remembered that, in truth, Theed should be his. Could be his. His mother was a princess, her father, his grandfather, had been King, before Pálnatóki conquered them both. It was his birthright to fight the king in combat.

Why hadn't he ever thought to do that before?

Was King Pálnatóki utilizing dark magics to influence the minds of his subjects? Bengeirr's grip on Reija's hand grew tighter, but he knew he didn't have to worry about hurting her.

"What do you think of?" she asked.

"I could kill King Pálnatóki. If it is as you said, Odin will face him, but I will be there to cut him down."

She squeezed his hand and tilted her head skyward. "What shall be is never truly clear. I believe that what is right will come to pass. And if I am by your side, you will live." Her eyes flitted to his face. "If you have the will to live."

He thought of all of the years he had lost, of the time wasted, as she said and his resolve hardened. "I do."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading!
> 
> I spent a lot of time on the names, mythology and dialogue sentence structure of this fic. I hope it shows! I did more research for this fic than most others 😅
> 
> Also, now with [amazing fanart by Fi](https://twitter.com/fi_kenobi/status/1288506466614292485)!  
> 
> 
> Also you can [follow me too](https://twitter.com/softhadesvibes)! lol


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